


ahold.

by outpastthemoat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen!Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just hold on, you say desperately, and he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ahold.

Just hold on, you say desperately, and he does.

He doesn’t let go, not this time, and his fingers remain wrapped around your wrist long after heaven’s gate seals shut: you’re sure there’ll be marks later, angry red lines where your skin has been rubbed raw.  

He doesn’t let go even as you carry him towards the car, doesn’t let go even as you fumble with the lock, jerk open the door and slide into the back seat, pulling him in after you. His cheek presses against the front of your shirt, and you can feel those quick gasps of air warming your skin through the faded cotton.  

He doesn’t let go, even as you lay him down to rest on the faded floral sheets of yet another motel bed.

Hold on, you murmur, and he does, clings to the hem of your shirt as you loosen that rumpled tie, as you slip off his shoes and yours, as you wrap a towel around the wound in his side, as you lie on the bed beside him and hold him close.

And he doesn’t let go, not when you pull him tightly against your chest, doesn’t let go even as his head falls forward on your shoulder, even as he turns his face into the crook of your neck.

He lies in the cradle of your arms; you hold him steady against your heart.  

And still he holds on, blinking slowly, eyes unfocused.  He reaches out to grab at the loose folds of your shirt around your chest, hands roaming unsteadily to clutch at the edge of your sleeve, fingers curling and uncurling as he clings to the cuff of your jacket, fingers trailing along the stiff denim to catch the flap of a front pocket, fingers running down the teeth of the zipper and tugging at the metal buttons.  

And when he finally finds the edge of your pockets and slips his fingers inside, he lets out a sigh like he’s finally found some relief.  

His eyes flutter shut, dark lashes sweeping against his cheek, and when his fingers finally fall out of your pocket, you lay his hand across his chest right between his heart and yours.  

And you hold on; he falls into sleep with your palm against his.

You hold him though that long night, sleepless and certain of nothing but the beat of his heart as it hammers against the back of your hand.


End file.
